


this is a casket built for two

by thebetterbina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Inspired by Twitter, M/M, i cant believe theres a death/harry tag, specifically noni for drawing that buckwild art piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22374937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina/pseuds/thebetterbina
Summary: ‘A King?’ Death supplies, curiosity conveyed across the mutual bond.(And oh, he’s always played the saviour hasn’t he? The golden boy, the good boy, the hero, the lamb. This is new. Power in itself is not something new, but this—this—)Harry laughs, “I’ll take that.”noni drew thisand i just brained out of existence.
Relationships: Death/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 196





	this is a casket built for two

**Author's Note:**

> super fast betad by the amazing [saeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva/)! thanks man!

Death’s touch lingers on his skin; a whisper, a wisp of smoke, trailing tendrils of salacious secrets uttered in reverence over pale skin. There’s a contrast here, somewhere, between the ivory white of bones and the blushing red of a virgin bride. Death has a gentle hand, soft almost, and if Harry closes his eyes he can just brush over the imagination of a lover. 

There’s no romance here though. 

If there was Harry would think of roses, of evening candles, of laughter and the lilting tease of a voice against his ear murmuring sweet promises he’d return tenfold—instead, there’s only this: the mockery of a veil he wears and the desperation on his reddened lips. Instead, there’s only this: the perfect arch of his back and the gasp in every sound he makes. 

Instead, there’s only this—a consummation between master and entity. 

“ _—faster_.” 

The breathlessness in his own voice is enough to bring back heat, the rosy redness of life in a place very far beyond that. Under the steady thrum of their connection, he gets his affirmation in a low hum and small twist of his hips under the guiding touch of skeletal fingers. Harry gasps, breath hitching, toes curling at the hastened pace—relishing the stretch, the feel of every push and pull. It’s so easy to throw his head back, to moan and pant, to selfishly enjoy the carnal pleasure of being taken so fully. Harry acknowledges he’s not had a lot given to him so he takes what he can when he can. Gratification like this is something Harry thinks he can get used to. 

_‘Once, only once.’_ Death had promised, no louder than an exhale. 

_No_ . Harry thinks to himself in the haze of lust. _More_. 

He reaches his crest and tips over the peak far quicker than he should have, his voice is a choked whimper muffled against his hand, the jolt of pleasure like an electric shock through his system. He spurts in short bursts, warm splatters of messy come on his belly. The cock inside Harry does not stop moving even through his orgasm and he whines his displeasure of the overstimulation vocally—it seems enough for the spectre to pick up on, and a final few thrusts and Harry shivers at the feeling of a distinct kind of warmth coating the insides of him. 

There is no love in this, only ritual, rite, the ceremony before the coronation. 

Though Harry has to admit—lying on that bed of silk, his veil askew and stickiness between his thighs, an unfamiliar purr of thrumming power running between his fingertips—he does feel he’s ascended.

‘ _A King?_ ’ Death supplies, curiosity conveyed across the mutual bond.

(And _oh_ , he’s always played the saviour hasn’t he? The golden boy, the good boy, the hero, the lamb. This is new. Power in itself is not something new, but this— _this_ —)

Harry laughs, “I’ll take that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm active [on my Twitter](https://twitter.com/therealconnor60)! (´,,•ω•,,)♡


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